If the critic is looking for another description of a flower,
s/he will not get that from me.
The world and the people do not need another description of a flower
(go outside and look for yourself: sometime, somewhere, something will be growing near you – whether moss or wild rosa).
Instead,
we need to think,
to explore the heart of darkness,
to treat each other with kindness.
We need enlightenment.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
As rain continues to falls in torrents
and my faith disintegrates,
negative acceptance gives
a slither of grim comfort:
he hates us
and wants us to suffer.
…
And then what?
It’s not as if I can rely on nature or humanity.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Did I bite into the apple,
or did the apple bite me?
I wanted:
connection, experience, life.
I got:
convoluted.
The apple is obsessive,
in turn it stimulates and drains,
it projects and reflects
a strange mirror image of myself,
still, I am compelled,
I might be in love,
my mind is swimming,
wonderful, confusing thoughts …
it’s hard to form coherent phrases.
Regardless,
the apple teaches,
at the end of the day,
we’re all complicated.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Past irrelevant:
we gave hearts, minds, love, blood, tears.
Mother of all lies.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Seeking some meaning,
I read until my arm hurts…
drifting into peace.
(To be continued…)
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Women, men,
deep and shallow,
we all want to be liked,
appreciated,
ultimately desired.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Life beautiful
before
The Fall.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
Late, so late, yes,
but I enjoy the peace, the freedom,
being alone, in dark surrounds.
Tomorrow can wait.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
And me,
with only one Ruble
and one Dollar
to my name.
Indeed, the Dollar is Australian,
whatever that means.
Nonetheless,
I have peace.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
How meaningless so much of it is, was and will be.
You know it’s futile.
Yet, still you wish you’d had the courage, energy and stupidity to do things differently.
Who knows?
…
Manipulated, violated and compromised, you die
daily.
Bruised and beaten,
tonight you dream,
ethereal,
lost Eden.
©SvetkaSamizdat
…
